


There's A Chest Full Of Loveletters

by LuchaLiebe



Category: Ghost Adventures (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Ghost Sex, Jerusha (Ghost Adventures), Masturbation, Other, Se04/18 coda, mentions of the Incubus Incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5757655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuchaLiebe/pseuds/LuchaLiebe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'This was the first time I witnessed a fetish up close and personal - the possibility of having sex with a ghost. I interviewed a big, burly guy who talked about how much he enjoyed the feeling of when "Jerusha put her arms around me in bed." Then he went on to say that his wife and he were booking the room again to possibly have "a ghostly ménage à trois." I laughed, but then the room got silent. He was serious. Wow. Um... okay. This is for real isn't it? Well, I'm here to document evidence, and in this case if it happens, I really can't stop it and don't know if I even want to.' (Dark World, 76)</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's A Chest Full Of Loveletters

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you "big, burly guy" from the Wayside Inn for putting the idea of ghost sex into Zak's head so he won't shut up about it nowadays! This is for you.

„This time, no cameras“ says Zak, the three fake roses still in hand, and closes the door to room nine dramatically. With the lights still on the little chamber in the upper floor of Longfellow's Wayside Inn looks perfectly homey with the large bed occupying most of the space, duvet and pillows freshly fluffed after the lockdown.

 

Zak is eying the bed which almost seems to beckon him with promises of more from where the investigation left off last night. He can feel the tell tale tingle start up his spine, an invitation, but he sets down his backpack first by the headboard, on the gaudy carpet. “Jerusha” he says, “I've brought a present for you.” There is no answer – yet – but he turns and presents the flowers to the empty room anyways. Although they don't need water he places the red roses in a simple vase he produces after some fumbling from his bag. This is about setting the right atmosphere.

 

The room is silent except for the creaking of the old roofing and quiet bubbling of the ancient heating system, although there is also a kind of gentle vibration in the air, like energy building up.

“Are you in this room, Jerusha?” He feels the hair on his arms rise and that's evidence enough, really.

 

It's a little bit weird to do this without their equipment, Zak thinks, because he feels vulnerable relying on his human senses alone for the first time in ages. But he wants to do this right, no recordings, no energy readings, none of Bill Chappell's handy toys. He's read some of the letters crammed into the wood boarding and none of those people had anything other to go by than what they could hear and see, feel with their own bodies. And that's also a thrill: To be only on the receiving end of things, not able to communicate or to anticipate what's going to happen; to give himself over to the whims of the spirits completely.

 

Sure, he should be more careful with that, especially after the ghostly conversation they had recorded the night before between the man and the woman arguing. The energy in the room is benevolent though, he can clearly make that out, no trace of any evil intent to be found this time around. Just to be safe, he asks her “Is there any other presence in the room except for you, Jerusha?” before finally changing into sweatpants and socks and turns off the lights. As the welcoming atmosphere in the room doesn't change at all, he carefully lays on the bed in the darkness, awkwardly wriggling under the tightly tucked covers. He doesn't dare take out his contacts in case he is the first the ghostly resident of room nine decides to show herself to. If he can't have video evidence he at least wants to have accurate memories of it. For a few seconds he can't stop himself from scanning the dark bedroom, concentrating hard to make out any form of mist apparition or orb or figure but all he sees is the slightly protruding front door, the great chest, the dark shadow of the dresser and the looming rectangle that is the doorway connecting this room and number ten on the other side. Zak knows he should really get to sleeping already, after all, he is nothing more than a house guest tonight but his excitement won't let him. It's like an investigation, his heart pounding in his chest and senses sharp though he isn't afraid. He waits for the mattress to dip beside him, remembers what must have been an incorporal body pressing against his knees.

 

He lets five uneventful minutes tick by before whispering again, “Jerusha, are you here with me?”

Almost on command the bed springs squeak even though he's been still as a corpse. “I want you to touch me like you did yesterday” he tells Jerusha sounding just like he would during a taping. But he's completely unprofessional at this point. “Do you have a ghost fetish?” Aaron was teasing him just before and Nick just doesn't shut up about the incubus-incident, which is really annoying, but he just cannot deny that he's damn up for getting in physical contact with the spirit of a pretty lady.

 

“Remember?” he prompts her quietly, “I was sitting in a chair over there and you leaned against my knees. Can you do something like that again? Can you lay next to me?” He doesn't know where he should imagine her to be in relation to him so he just slightly turns his head to the left, in the direction of the empty half of the bed.

 

The sensation is instant, like a cold copper coin charged up with a low current pressing to the corner of his mouth and his first instinct is to jolt back. His head is spinning, either from the literal shock or the amount of blood his frantic heart is pumping through it. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck” he hisses. “Was that you? Did you just kiss me?” It doesn't even sound too ridiculous saying it out loud considering what has been going on in this room for over a hundred years and - what else could it have been? Zak has been touched by ghosts and demons, scratched and pushed but nothing has felt like this.

 

Something like this is what he does all the creeping in decrepit corridors and asbestic basements for. “Do it again, if that was you.”

 

He closes his eyes because that's what you're supposed to do he thinks and it comes again. Cold, electric and covering his cheekbone.

 

This time the current lingers and races up and then down his spine, like so many small fingertips. In any other situation this would've been enough to make him stop in his tracks but in that bed right now he already knows about the ghost and that she's harmless and refuses to acknowledge that Aaron is maybe a little bit right about him.

 

He still doesn't feel any weight next to him but the kisses come more often now. There is a certain pride in him because he's never read about kisses in any of the letters. He just tries to lay as still and relaxed as he can and let it go on, all the while feeling Jerusha's loving presence at his side. He's not sure if he should say something because he doesn't know if she'll stop then and he doesn't want her to. This is the most intense experience he's had on the show by far although he's glad that no cameras are there to capture it.

 

Because there are clearly a pair of cold hands on his hips now, gripping him through the covers and the only comparable sensation to that has been the _succubus_ sliding up his knees and he just doesn't want to think about that right now. The kissing stops and the bed spring creak slightly and he realizes suddenly that of course there is no indentation on the mattress because she is on him, straddling his legs. “What are you doing?” Zak asks, a little more urgent. He has encountered demons who would hold their victims down in order to crush the air out of them, but this again is different and he remembers the tug on his belt yesterday. None of the letters that fill the chest and the rafters have even hinted at something like this happening.

 

His covers aren't pulled back, his sweatpants have slipped only slightly lower but he can make it out clearly. The icy cold spot, buzzing with current is getting larger and wandering slowly downwards over his pelvis. He is just a little smug that he manages to stay still, let it happen, giving himself over completely and all. He imagines Aaron would have jumped by now and doesn't even want to think about Nick in this situation and then he doesn't think about anything anymore because the sensation is enveloping his dick all of a sudden like a deep-frozen fleshlight.

 

“Holy shit!” he gasps because he's getting hard in an instant as if the spirit's energy has jump-started his libido – and maybe he's been a tiny bit hard before but it isn't easy to tell when he jerks back and bangs his head against the wooden headboard. “Fuck-” Still, the cold stays on him as he tries frantically to make anything out in front of him. There's nothing.

 

There are the many fingertips again, running up his spine and down his arms and the sides of his neck and over his tattoo and across his chest and he finally chases the shivers down to his crotch, frantically pushes inside his pants and briefs as if to check if everything's still there. And he has heard of ice cube play though he can't imagine it being anything like this.

 

His own grip on the base of his dick is searingly hot in contrast to the spirit's mouth on him which has him speechless for a long moment because that revelation alone makes his balls draw tight already and the feeling makes tiny orbs spark before his eyes. He swears just with the tips of his manicured fingers he can _touch_ the ghost, Jerusha.

 

Then the cold creeps up over the cross on his index finger and engulfs his whole hand, swallowing his balls and slides like a caress down his thighs. Zak stares, transfixed, at the empty space right above his lap as his hips begin to buck up into his fist. At this point he's as close to the afterlife as he could ever get, he knows, and pretty close to nirvana too. At this point he can't really consciously make the decision anymore when he starts to jerk his right hand up, the other pressed to his side and still the rest of his body seems to be in stasis. He tells himself he's just going with it when he next opens his mouth, not to ask anything. Forget the research, this is an experience. And he pants into the room that seems suddenly stuffy and close. This is another kind of possession altogether.

 

He's jacking full force now, something he hasn't done since he's moved into the flat in Michigan. Where his hand isn't touching, the icy cold sweeps in, completely mixing up the signals to his brain, and it's hot when he covers that place again. It's pretty sloppy as well, something that hasn't happened for even longer than Michigan and although he's still under covers, hands stuck in his pants like a teenager, the cold feels like Jerusha is blowing on the wet tip for extra chill. The goosebumps are intense right now and he can almost make out the way she would look with him right now. The only thing he can see in the darkness are the movements of his hand. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand painfully on end. He thinks, what the fuck is he supposed to write in his letter he's leaving for fans to find.

 

Right then he registers a different kind of movement from the corner of his eyes. It's some form of white mist, something he's seen on night vision cameras during post a hundred times and sometimes even with his own eyes. But this one is manifesting right before him. In front of his face, close enough to almost meet with his nose. Close enough to kiss. He's always thought of spirits to retain some semblance of human form, a rough semblance of their anatomy so he realizes with another shock what that means when he feels the freezing, charged copper coin press to his mouth.

 

It's not even words that come out through his gritted teeth when Zak comes in his hand, inside her, the spirit. He just flops backward, his thighs and back muscles working and pressing his hips up while pushing his head into the cotton-clouds pillows typical for an inn.

 

He just rides it out until he can't sense her anymore and then he just keeps lying there with his sticky sweatpants, stone cold at the center but with warmth flooding back into his calves and spreading from there. He feels groggy, his energy sapped but he doesn't mind at all. It takes a while for him to comprehend what's just happened and he'll check for any recorders or mini cams the guys might have hidden in the morning.

 

 

 

 

Jerusha watches the man turn off the lights and lay down. Although she is flooded with love for him, her man, who came back for her, there is the ever present burden of grief tying her down. He's talked to her so nicely, he's finally returned from the war that was now little more than a word to her and still she can't move to lay down with him like she has so many times before with her beloved. The roses have flattered her and she so wants to thank him for them, how considered and nice.

 

“Jerusha, are you here with me?” And she wants to tell him yes, she's always been here, where else would she be! “I want you to touch me like you did yesterday.” And she would but she is fading now, a spectator, bed-bound like a sick person to her spot at the doorway. She's only able to observe, filled with longing, admiration and so much grief when the man suddenly sits up.

 

Jealousy sparks through her when her beloved begins to talk to her and then what may be another woman and begins to touch himself. Her power is ebbing and flowing and today she's as barren as she was always afraid she would be and then he man is writhing on her bed and she is gone, like a thought. And when she returns there is a young couple sleeping under the covers and she moves to the husband's side, her husband, and presses gently up to him with the unbearable grief light like a coat in summer. Like that, her beloved has finally returned!


End file.
